Life as a Solitary Witch
by SpicyWalrus
Summary: Love has a cruel, dry sense of humour. Will Loki find that out sooner, or later? Thor/Loki, Jane/Thor, and witchcraft.
1. Prologue

**This is a Thor AU, in which Loki is a single, twenty-eight year old Witch (I HAD to put in some supernatural twist for him :3), who works with Jane, Darcy, and that other... Old dude... I forgot his name, ahah. Loki lives in New York, in a flat apartment somewhere in the urbs. I'll leave the rest to ya'~!**  
**By the way, if you didn't already notice, this is most likely going to be almost full-on Thor/Loki after several chapters. Some unrequited Darcy/Loki on Darcy's part, but I (almost) promise it will have humour!**

_Life of a Solitary Witch_

**Prologue**

Life was good. Well, at least it seemed that way. Life went and went by with not a care in the world of what it left behind for its givers and takers. The rent was payed, jobs payed him back in return. Enough money to buy food, keep shelter and cigarettes was just fine.

Now, paying for the piano wasn't the most beneficial thing he'd done for his financial aides, as well as not helping his College funds at all. Then again, college never stormed its way nor slid into the Laufey boy's agenda at any time. Neither did the subject ever cross his mind. Life was fine without a degree in some art or physician science thing.

Could he have it any other way? Of course, yes. _Would_ he have it any other way? No to it's very fullest.

Smoke seeped from his thin lips like the notes from the black grand in the sidelines of the none too spacious room—careless yet so formal and graceful in the same respects.

A J.J. Abrams piece filled the thick air around the brunette man, sleeves cuffed sloppily against pale forearms, just as messy as the hair that swept behind his ears. Careless, yet so formal and graceful. Lithe fingers pressed and played white and black keys, all sounds controlled with one of three brass pedals and the player's eye-hand coordination. Despite how blind and tiresome his aventurine eyes looked, his eyesight and eye color had no such things to do with each other—even the lavender sweeps beneath the bottom lids.

Though… Why so with the appearance, you say? Well, when you have nary a love life, you're single, twenty-eight and couldn't care less if your next door neighbor threatened to expulse you from your flat in the middle of the damn day.

Time seemed to stop a little, at a sudden rate, the hair on the back of the Laufey man's neck standing on near end. Oh, don't think something big was going to happen, like a giant flying robot to come crashing through his window or something. No, it was someone at his door… Wasn't it?

Three knocks. Right again, Laufeyson. He smirked inwardly, shaking his head at his own cleverness.

"Mista' Lua'feyson?" The delivery man chimed at the door, brown eyes beedy and alert as ever, brows raised to an unseen place underneath the bill of his lowly tipped ball cap. Lord, did Loki have a distaste for that accent, the way his last name was pronounced. It wa sso different from his own; and it very much made him feel like a cmplete outcast.

"Yes," The brunette sharply retorted,(one may say he sounded like he was actually _used_ to this stuff; ha!) quick to grab the clipboard in which, like all the other mortals in these damned apartments, had to sign.

Though, the delivery man looked inside without being very noticed, eyes squinting at a particular coffee cup on the top of the piano. Was the stirrer... _Stirring by itself?_ His small eyes widened, ready to lift his finger to point at the self-stirring stirring-stick, in the cup, and on the piano.

"Thank you," was all the brunette said with a dip of the head (it was a habit, really) before taking his delivered item, shoving the board back to the man, and promptly retreating inside.

And he didn't even realize what the hell it was until then:

_Two, purring, pure white doves, perched on a stick of driftwood._

_To the Laufeyson hold, _a small tag read, the reader not bothering to go on with whatever it had on it. Picking up the cage, wide eyes examined the two delicate creatures. Not one had a single flaw nor fault with them, both didn't have their wings clipped, and both had an ankle ring that signified that they were captive birds.

Ah, a hanging cage, too? Lucky again. Not as if he really _cared_ if it was a hanging cage or not, but the ones that hung just looked… Nicer, dare say? A self-directed giggle left smirking lips, taking a step back to admire his work. "You two would be lucky if someone didn't come in tomorrow, I'd have to use you then," Muttered the pianist to the birds. Even the mewling Bombay approved of the cage, her large, amber eyes studying both her owner, and the two dovelings as if to ask, "Is that going to be my dinner?"

"Hush, Sigyn, these aren't for eating," Laufeyson mused to the solidly black feline friend of his, earning a characteristic slight toss of her small head and a sway of her tail, before she was off to go find an alleyrat to chase and bring back home. Hell, Loki didn't give a single damn about the rules for pets here- which was specifically: No pets. But he'd of course rather not think about the consequences of disobeying the law, rolling his eyes and turning back to the suspended cage.

Two turtle doves, each a different sex, sharing the same, rot iron cage. For a second he dare admit that he wondered if the two birds even liked each other, or if they were even able to have mutual attraction. _Don't be so foolish_, he thought, shaking his head with a roll of pale chartreuse eyes.

Some may call him odd; some may call him a nuisance of the world. _But what gives them the right to judge should they have anything against me, really? _He thought, tilting his head as eyes stared at the flickering flame of the match pinched between two fingers, the tip of the incense stick catching the fire just long enough to singe and burn the first half inch.

The pianist took in a breath, holding the incense in front of the hanging cage. He began to draw a pentagram in the air with the smoke, then a pentacle,

"_With this incense, I banish all that is negative,"_

Some call him odd, some call him trickster, and some of the ladies at work dare say he just needs a good lay to get his mind back straight again. People come and go for him like the seasons, few stay.

"_With this incense, I draw all that is fair,"_

Some acquaintances laugh at his words of "I really don't need anybody", "I can do what I want" or "Love is just a four letter word", some tilt their heads and jut out their bottom lips with "aww"s, and some throw themselves at him because it's apparently attractive to say things such as that (though all of them don't ever make their way into his life, he finds those women—and dare say, even some men—quite sickening). But all in all, he always thought one didn't need somebody else in their life to make themselves happy.

_Solitary witches don't need men or women, _he could hear himself sigh to Darcy, who would always roll her doe eyes, sigh, then shoo off to go bother someone else far more entertaining than he, all the while the Laufeyson man would shake his head, laugh quietly to himself, and go back to work. He may think about it on the way home, perhaps daze off into scenarios and such; but really, nobody listens to that crazy young woman anyways, so why did he even bother to think about it?

Could he have it any other way? Of course, yes. _Would_ he have it any other way? No to it's very fullest.

Life was good. The rent was payed, and jobs payed in return. Life like this could be complicated at times, but that's how the laws of life itself were. Cigarettes kept him sane, his love of his life was a black cat and he still knew what happiness was- that made life well in all due respect.

This life was Loki Laufeyson's life as a solitary witch, and perhaps nobody else's. And that was just how he liked it.

* * *

**Well, there's the prologue. I may get to writing the first actual chapter in a bit... Who knows! Review if you want, but I don't really ever use critique, bad or good ;;. Just a me thing. I'm new to FF, so be gentle if you scold or flame me xD... Naw, go ahead and bash it all in if you have to. **

**Please, please write critique! I enjoy and value critique 3**


	2. Le Premier Chapitre

**A/N: Sif is in a relationship with Flandral, guys. Even if you don't ship it, you don't actually have to xD Hell, I don't ship it either! I'm just here to write :3 Flandral doesn't have a curly moustache in this, no, he has a moustache/goatee combo :D! Just giving you a visual here... He's the hipster kind I guess xD**

**And please, if you find some things wiered later on in this story about Wicca and those things, you should watch some movies and stuff about it, and maybe look into the things that you may read in here :3 It is a, and my, religion that quite a bit of people follow, so please all do respect to it! May Isis be with ya'! 3**

**I.: Tea, Storms, and Rings**

Spearmint tea with a strip of tangerine peel—Loki's favorite. It helped his clarity, whether it was for scrying (which he never usually intended to do when one came to him), reading lines in someone's palm, or reading dove's blood from a needle. A lot would call it a potion, but it was only a mixture of ingredients that were set on a spell, stirred a certain rune into it, and drunken.

Jesus _Christ_, and did they help when the man's mind was clouded. Like a charm every time! Some would counteract on his karma and the Wiccan law of what goes around comes around— he learned this from a time he tried to use a love spell for some girl a few years prior—while others worked just fine.

But almost every Witch, seasoned or not, would know not to bother the gods _every_ time you wanted or thought you needed something. And remember: Love has a cruel sense of humour.

A fast, loud yet agile and gentle tapping noise awoke Loki from his wondrous thoughts on all his foolish spell castings on the wrong days or nights, blinked a few times before he raised his hand to the air, finger pointing as if he had a hushing-needy audience in front of his seated place.

"Sif." The single word was uttered quietly, sensing an odd omen lingering in the air; a bad one, to be exact and final. A wave of the hand unlocked the hatch on the heavy door, a petit and brunette woman rushing inside, closing the door behind her.

"Loki," She started, her eyes seeming to look tired and flushed. But she couldn't finish, bottom lip quivering, head shaking in her trembling hands that held her delicate face.

"Oh, Siffy," Shushed the thin man, who had long since got up and embraced her tightly, tears staining his black collar shirt through Sif's shaking hands. "It happened, didn't it..?"

She nodded forcefully, pent up anger and pure emotion spilling from her choked sobs. "God, I ju—he's such a sour _bastard,_" Cried Sif, whose forehead was kissed by pursed lips.

"He was always that, sweetheart," Loki soothed through Sif's auburn locks, rubbing calming circles between the woman's small shoulders. "Let it out, Sif, I'm here for you."

Soft strokes of comfort ran through the sobbing young lady's hair, who had begun letting her cries free, which weren't needed to be loud, she knew what heartfelt pain her tears conveyed. Loki felt for Sif, he had remembered heartbreak; total loss. A sigh left his lips, shaking his head softly as he cradled the girl in his lanky arms.

Love really did have a cruel, dry sense of humour.

* * *

"I sensed it from the start," Sif sighed, sitting along the crook of Loki's small couch. But, oh, he was so charming, so sweet and… I'm such a fool," She said, voice barely above a whisper.

"You are no _fool_, Sif," retorted Loki, who turned her face to meet her big, sad brown eyes. "You were in love. Yes, it may've not had the _best_ outcome in the end, but that is okay!" Loki offered her a small smile, thumb rubbing her cheek in a comforting way. "Everyone has their true significant other, and maybe," he tilted his head, brows raising the slightest; "Maybe he wasn't just that?"

Sif nodded, turning her head temporarily to the cat that had placed a paw on her shoulder from its place on the armrest. "Even Sigyn agrees about it," Loki assured the woman by his side- who cracked the slightest of smiles. No matter what they were talking about, especially when in an argument or saying soothing words to heal open wounds, Loki always found some way to make Sif smile. Some may say they look like lovers, really—but if you knew the two, oh, would you change your mind quite a bit!

"Thanks, Loki," Her sniffling voice allowed her to say, blowing her stuffed nose into a tissue from the floral cardboard box in her lap. "You should really get into a therapy business," Sif repeated for the more than seventh time that year, earning a quite incredulous look from the elder male in the room. How did he even pull off looking that sassy?

"Oh, come on, just look into it—at least _once_..?" asked the brown eyed beauty, jutting out her bottom lip at the man in black.

"No- Never, I save my words for when they matter to those I actually care for." Okay, maybe that was half of a lie. White lie. White lie? Yes. A white lie. Why was it a white lie; because Darcy knew how to whine sometimes. "I'm fine with my life… And this conversation isn't about me, its about _you._"

"Is not-"

"Well if it isn't then explain why you are here with me."

Loki was right; why was she here if it wasn't about her own well being? Scolding herself for being too wittily tongued, Sif slumped back into her chair, staring at the ring on her pinky finger—her promise ring. "If you're ready for a long and emotional nag, then yes."

So then, she began with the pianist at her side when he gave a nod for her to proceed, Bombay at the other; and it all started with a sigh. Mainly Sif started with how her and Flandral were in such a nice relationship, how just a few days ago they were perfectly fine. How Flan had been trimming his constantly groomed scruffy goatee. How he had bought a new pair of prescription Ray Bans for himself, and then how he had said it was her fault they had gotten lost.

The words went on, constantly from light hearted to violent or argumentatively descriptive. Loki felt, perhaps, sympathy for the girl. Though he had never been through those kind of thing, since he had nary a love life, and only maybe two girlfriends in his life (one from high school times, of course). She couldn't even spill so many things out into one, solid and unquivering or shaken breath! And when she did, it was rare. Oh, the poor girl.

Loki gradually learned just how hard Flandral made her life, how he was always so needy and demanding. High maintenance at its fullest, to say the least; though Loki had only seen him merely two or three times. Flandral looked so put together, perhaps even nice, during those few times they even conversed the slightest. Looks were always so deceiving, and Loki could always feel there was something wrong with the two. Said so the sign he could see and feel only five or so months ago. Tragedy could strike at any time—now wasn't that right?

* * *

Sif ended up sniffling her way out of the apartment door, telling the Witch how she "Should really go to pick up the weekly groceries" with an agreed "I'll be late if I don't leave for work now so I should probably follow you" after they had slipped her promise ring off, threw it into the furnace and sat back with cups of tea to watch it burn. The metal only singed a little on the outside, but that would change. The apartments were heated during the cold parts of early spring here, so it would most likely burn red hot or to a crisp—which was planned.

And that was practically the only thing on Loki's mind on the drive to the warehouse, where Darcy and Jane would most likely be at this time. Low maintenance places were hard to keep together, but it was a great place after they had modified it a few years prior from now. A huge retractable window on the top, new locks on the doors, an insulation unit, electricity and it was complete.

Monitoring the stars wasn't the easiest job, but neither was writing reports for Jane about them, either. The woman talked fast sometimes, and when she didn't, she was mumbling brain storms under her breath. Loki didn't exactly enjoy dealing with constant carpal lockups from the writing he did all the time, and having to file down his nails to type faster was a bitch to do as well. Though he faired, and didn't complain much. Moral number one: When your job gets sponsored and supported by/for NASA several times out of the year when conditions for weather balloons and such are good, you don't really have to complain much.

All thoughts skidded to a halt when the Laufeyson man heard a familiar voice, and eyes burning into the side of his head after the black helmet of his was removed. "Perfect hair every-freaking-_time!" _Squealed the youngest of the three comrades, hands dragging acrossed her exasperated expression, elbows firmly planted on her desk. "How do you do that!"

Loki shot her a small "What the hell?" look, before laughing it off with a soft shake of his head. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Hell yeah I'm jealous," Pouted Darcy, who earned a flick on the back of her head from Jane.

"Stop complaining, Darce," Jane told the shorter brunette, lifting her cup of coffee to her lips. "Complaining gets you nowhere."

"Complaining gets you nowhere," Darcy mocked, whilst Loki smiled inwardly at the two. Man, were they a dynamic duo from Hell.

The two women argued quietly back and forth, and Loki had payed no attention to it, instead looking through the window in pondering thought. But it wasn't really looking; it was more of a trance. A trance that usually nobody bothered him in, unless his hands weren't clasped together. If not that, then everyone was safe from a near insane Loki Laufeyson.

_It's later than I assumed it was, _he thought between looking at the large sundial and various clocks around the room—which all depicted that the current time in New York was indeed far past just six. It might just be a long night. And where was Jane's car, or, excuse him, her truck? More than likely her infamous main squeeze dropped her off earlier; but who knew?

With a sigh, a pale hand cranked the nearby window open, which squeaked the slightest as it came to a full unsheathed overture. A pleasingly cool breeze gently rolled in, just enough to recycle the smoke that was about to pollute the warehouse. Pursed lips held the cancer stick, while a match struck and lit the end, fingers pinching the end to lift it away from his own lips. Blowing the smoke out of the way, Loki fell into a semi deep thought, hand twiddling with a pen held between them.

"Have we any reports from any institutes lately?" Asked the Witch, turning his head to Harry who sat on the other side of the room, shuffling papers in his hands.

"No, testing is this week."

"NASA?"

"They've not the time for that."

"Bloody hell do you mean by 'no time', they're constantly sending reports to us!"

"Loki," Interrupted the elder man, tipping his head down to get a none-too-blurry look at the brunette from above his glasses' rim. "What I mean is that we haven't gotten any fair reports that honestly have anything useful to say in them. The weather is horrible, anyways."

Loki furrowed his brow, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Then are there any storms ahead? I'd like to know if I'm going to freeze to death in my flat." He watched as the Foster member let out a breath, mumbling calculations under his breath as beady eyes traced over whatever was on the paper in his hands.

"Tonight, actually, and it's going to last a while," Harry sighed out, sliding his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

Darcy piped in, turning to Jane with an aura of mere excitement. "Do you have any results from the weather balloon?" Loki just sighed, turning his attention to the moon that was soon to have its ringed beauty covered by obscuring clouds.

Wait… Ringed?

Loki's eyes widened slightly, realizing the facts he already knew; a ring around the moon meant that trouble was soon to come. Trouble? But he had already gone through trouble today… Fucking karma, that's what it was. But what did he do wrong..? Loki shook his head, which he cradled in one hand for a few breaths, and another drag of his cigarette.

He was in for a long night.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, Loki does own a motorcycle. What else would he have? He's single, badass, and pretty tight in my opinion :3 Requests on how Loki and Thor should meet, anyone~? Review if you want, I guess :P!**


	3. Le Deuxième Chapitre

**Thanks for all the views in just a mere four days, guys 3 Hope this chapter doesn't bore you. HA!**

**II.: Cigarettes, Storms, and Tricks**

Dark and colorless clouds had long since completed the task of completely covering the skies above the city that rarely slept, leaving the four astronomers in a cold-ass warehouse. Luckily it was heated, and small enough to hold in the heat and circulate it among the four. The lights were the power of practical floodlights, since the generators would temporarily spazz the fuck out on occasion, then turn off though every time before the shut downs they'd pump in so much electricity that Harry would have to go out and shut off the breaker for a bit.

Though sometimes when it was cold the entire damned place went cold as death, the other few times the heater would regulate the temperature just fine. A small and quaint place, really. Though it _was_ small looking, it was hella spacious on the inside; even if it looked miniscule from the outside. Okay, the word "miniscule" was a bit over exaggerated.

The moon had disappeared with the midnight sky as well, leaving a pondering Loki to sit and stare at the condensation forming on the window at his side, which was now, of course, closed tightly. Not even the truck that had pulled in caught the wonderer's attention. Nope, not because he hadn't cared who it was—oh, if he _had_ noticed, he'd be worrying at the start—but simply because he didn't care about much at this moment. Well, aside from wondering how Sif was fairing, and then about how he himself would fair with the obvious storm coming.

Loki never fared well with storms, no; he was far from fairing when it came to them. Sometimes they would give him headaches, for some very odd reason (though the rain helped soothe the headaches), and the coldness of it made his hands cramp up—which, above all, was pretty bad. Most of the time, he would just sit back, try and read a book, compose some music, or just have a damn cup of tea. On rare occasions, the man would take walks to the nearest coffee shop. Lordie, coffee sounded great right now.

"Hey, mister writing man," A high voice snapped Loki out of his thoughts. "Daydreaming again?" Jane piped up, raising a pampered eyebrow at the pale man in the seat, ash tray in front of him, as well as a notebook, the current open page with all kinds of different, miscellaneous scriptures and hypotheses.

Laufeyson's head turned towards her, brows raised in a look of "I'm sorry, what did you say? I was too busy not really caring". "No, I was," Loki tried, his eyes wandering to the man by the young lady's side. His eyes quickly snapped back to the woman; "Jotting down mindlessness."

Jane sighed out a small, "Like always," as she then turned to the blonde at her side. "You two have met, right?" She asked.

"Hm?" The blonde man mused, blinking cerulean eyes at the brunette seated beside him. "Oh, yes, I remember you!" He offered a smile, extending a hand out to Loki and grabbing it in his own, shaking friendlily. Well, friendly to him at least.

"A— ha, yes, Jane introduced us together a while ago," Loki assured himself , feeling as if his arm was getting rather ripped out of his shoulder socket. Thank the Gods the man had stopped the handshake in time. "Thor, isn't it?" Wait, they met before?

"Yes, and you, Loki, the master writer," Thor stood back, crossing his arms with a smile broadly upon his chiseled face; "It's a fair pleasure meeting you again."

"Oh, stop it, that compliment kills me enough when Darcy says it," complained the Wiccan, in a rather dead tone. Apparently they _did _meet once. "How are, er, you," Loki's eyes shifted over at Jane, who had been called over for something by the infamous Darcy. "You two..?"

Thor's face portrayed that of a mixture that of embarrassment and amusement. "She's been," the blonde gave a sigh, "She's been good, the both of us, actually."

Loki took the time to study this man's dream-induced smile, how sort of… Well, how slightly self-mocking it looked, really. "Actually, she's been stressful in her own ways lately…" Thor's smile faded.

The smaller male took on a small frown upon his face, worrying at his bottom lip. "You're annoyed by her," Loki stated.

Thor's expression turned rather dark, and Loki wondered how the hell one person could be so expressive with just their eyes only. "Why would you think—"

"Your very aura tells me so, Thor, I mean—You two didn't even show any affection towards each other when you first came in."

"Oh, says you, mister now so-called mind reading writing man."

"What I'm saying is that you two don't look to have a healthy—"

"How would you know that, sir?" Thor cut off, watching intently as the smaller male looked as if he was biting his tongue. The blonde gave a laugh. "You barely even know me, do note."

_You barely know __**me**_, Loki immediately thought, the pair of blue orbs burning his earlobes. His vitreous nerves were slowly getting frayed, by just how the slightest amount of ignorance that a small conversation could obtain and turn on the sour side from not knowing the smallest of secrets. _Let it go, Loki. Just let it slip and pass._

"I," Laufeyson started, hand slipping around his abandoned, now cold coffee, the liquid warmthnening with just a short touch, lifting it to his lips to take a small sip. "You're right, I'm just being benightedly minded," he easily lied, letting out a pseudo-apologetic sigh.

"I'm only tugging on your leash, my friend, don't be so fictitious," Thor laughed out, voice bellowing throughout the small warehouse. Loki felt his ears grow hot. Damn him for not wearing a hood today.

"Fictitious," Loki mimicked, throwing the word around his mind for a moment. "I didn't expect such an intelligently chosen word to be in your vocabulary," A small, mischievous smirk twitched at Loki's lips.

Thor himself couldn't manage not to smile with the pale man. "Neither did I, actually." Those chosen words caused both, full-grown men, to snicker beside themselves.

"Well, look who's brash," Loki sighed out caustically, shaking his head, apple'd cheeks flushing the slightest bit of rose.

"And you, deemed devious."

"Some of us live up to our names."

"Says who?"

Loki couldn't help the "Bitch, please" look that came to his face, looking half-heartedly over at the epitome of manliness. "You're kidding?"

A small, friendly slug was delivered to the Witch's shoulder, which was most likely meant to be a nudge, but turned out to be like a sort of bear-like, short rasp; the window besides him lurching open momentarily off of the aura jolt that quickly surged through his veins. Luckily the oaf didn't pay any attention to it, still holding his soft smile. "You know I'm kidding, trickster," said Thor, leaning just against the desk surface.

Lord, was this guy a jejune handful. He was like a grown up child, almost—in respects of his common sense, just a little bit. Though he was a homely seeming person, in all due respect to that, since most people here in New York and Jersey were rather rash and curt. Thor, on the other hand, well… He was a happy alternative.

A small silence fell between the two men, only the soft chatter of the girls (not to mention to frequent Harry over there) audible from this side of the room. "You like staring at people, don't you," Loki accused softly, turning his head to Thor, who had blinked in a small feeling of slight awe.

"I apologize, I didn't know you had eyes on the side of your head." Thor tilted his head, expressiveness quite loud. "Where do you come from?"

What kind of question was _that?_ Where did Loki _come from? _Um, a womb, what else? "You're probably wondering why I look so different and sound so different from other people: is that right?" Loki gave a near aggravated sigh, taking a wild guess that Thor's silence meant to go on.

"I come from a long line of Celtic and Norwegian mythology lovers, _that_ is where my name came from," The brunette started, nibbling on his lip. "The accent is from my mother, father," – an uncomfortably cold shiver inched up Loki's spine at the mention of his father, and Thor seemed to notice as he made a quick attempt to change the subject. Well, at least a small bit.

"Accent? I barely noticed," The thunderous man bluffed, earning an almost invisible smirk from Loki's worrying, pale and thin lips. "I come from the same line," Thor boasted, smile returning to his godly face. Loki was already starting to dislike it in the best way possible. The guy _had _to be a fucking model, or… Something! To Hell with it, he would probably ask Jane later anyways. "Same thing with the name as well."

"Ah, you act as of your name, Thor. It doesn't surprise me."

"As do you, Loki."

_Don't strangle him, don't strangle him_ went on in a repeated loop inside of Loki's head, eyes closed as he quickly thought of a sort of leeringly luring retort. "You have no idea, thunder boy." Loki muttered boldly, deciding finally that he should probably leave before this encounter turned into a homicide scene. So, grabbing the leather jacket, he stood, and slipped his arms through the slim sleeves, snatched his lighter and pulled out his most likely last cigarette of the night.

"Well, I should really be off now," Loki mused, taking a long drag from his cigarette. The suggestoion of him leaving was sudden, but he needed to see if Sigyn had been with any other alleycats, and if the doves weren't dead.

Oh, and poor Thor frowned; but allowed the short-lived frown to turn into a small grin. "I hope to see you again, trickster~."

With a roll of the eyes and a small smile, Loki replied with a small, bewitching "Don't get your hopes up, thunder boy." It sounded half hearted, but the subtley slinky look that Loki gave the blonde was quite copious—and maybe just a little… Cute?

Woah, woah, _woah, there! _Cute? Really, Thor? You've just seriously called the man you barely just _cute? _By the time Thor had unwrapped himself from his own thoughts, Loki was gone, a small amount of toxic smoke lingering in the air._ Where the hell did he go_, Thor thought for a moment, turning behind him only to see the sliding door just then close; the brunette man gone.

Loki really was some sort of trickster at heart, wasn't he? Thor would only have to find out sometime; maybe not soon enough.

* * *

Head rested against the armrest, Loki took in the sound of the rain, the gentle rolls of thunder, and the small, distant flashes of light that rang throughout almost the entire city. The lightening wasn't too close, so Loki wasn't very bothered by it at all. No, not _bothered_ this time.

It almost comforted him. In a way that made bubbles form in the pit of his stomach; the sides of his lips twitch up slightly.

A sickeningly sweet feeling he could swear he had never felt before.

The piano played though Loki was quite a few meters away from it. It was another witch thing—a lot of true witches knew magic. Unless it was a born gift, which Loki could never fathom it to be. A lot of the times he would read or see accusations of the Craft being black magic, but he himself knew better than that. What right did others have to judge him and his practices, right?

Sigyn tugged him from his thoughts, pawing at the hand that was hanging from his side. "Yes, cat?" Loki asked in a low tone of perhaps slight annoyance; the cat _had_ ruined a nice little daydream.

The Laufeyson man's brow s raised slightly, taking in a small yawn, lanky hand covering his mouth for a short moment (which did indeed slow the piano down a small bit, for he was getting quite tired now). All was well and comfortable, before Sigyn started to mewl again. "Okay, Sigyn, you may be in heat, but that doesn't give you the right to nag so mu—"

There was a knock at the door.

It sounded hesitant, but quite loud. It was unlike Loki was used to hearing or had ever heard. He rose to his feet slowly but swiftly, raising his hand, and pulling his fingers together, then slowly waving them to the side with a small outtake of breath. There, the locks were undone.

The pale pianist took in a small, apprehensive breath, hand clasped around his right wrist. "It's open." The witch called out.

Why didn't he have the sense of security? And again, he was just letting someone that he didn't even recognize into his _house? _

Loki waited a moment, before the knob on the door turned, the door slowly cracked open, and two eyes hesitantly peered in.

"Oi~."

Oh, damn- A _very. Long. Night._

* * *

**A/N: Don'chya just LOVE cliffhangers :D? I've been low on inspiration, so it probably wasn't too exciting xD If you were wondering, I am going to tell you that yes, while Thor had a small moment of spacing out, Loki did "teleport" (there really is no other word I guess) to the door, leaving him in the cold with Jane. WHy? Because I must be a super bitch to hi- Nah, Thor's my oafey boy. Again thanks for the small amount of support, guise o u o**


	4. Le Troisième Chapitre

**WOAH, it's already six a.m.! I've been writing all morning oAo! You bet it. I did it for you guys, and the need for... Well, whatever this chapter is about. I'm smashed, guys xD Enjoy the stranger at the door :3**

**III.: Strangers, Candles, and Bottles**

Loki's eyes widened at the sight before him, confusion flashing acrossed bright green irises just before he cleared his throat. _You have got to be kidding me, _he immediately thought, crossing his arms where he stood. "May I ask why you are here..?" His lips uttered, blinking insipidly at the man behind his door, which made Loki shift his light weight to his left foot.

"I'll explain later," said a weak voice; much weaker than it had sounded mere hours before. Another crack of lightening illuminating the entire room—as well as this stranger's face, a set of chartreuse eyes widening with black pupils the size of mere pinholes. "Can you—" The blonde was cut off quickly.

"Oh my god, what _happened to you!"_ hissed Loki, rushing to the blonde with a snatch of his wrist, pulling him inside. The guy was lucky Loki didn't break his wrist with his white-knuckled grip.

Thor's hand was covered in blood—both dried and fresh; hand over the leftmost part of his forehead. His breathing was surprisingly slow, and he smiled at Loki—_smiled_. The Laufeyson man begun to wonder if everything Thor went to was thought to be a damn joke! He was bleeding _profusely_ for Isis' sake!

But Loki kept calm, used to having his own cuts along his back, arms, hands, et cetera. Though, they did heal, since there were more than just several healing salves both he and Sif had made; together or apart. "Sit," Loki commanded, hand on Thor's broad right shoulder. Oh, man, was he in a befuddling doozey. Why him? What, did Thor actually _know_ that Loki could heal the deepest wound with just a few words and a salve? Questions, questions, Loki thought, opening the oak cabinet just above his lonely stove, which smelt strongly of mostly Sandalwood and mint, scuffling around within the different flasks and vials of oils and herbs; until he found what he was looking for.

It was only a pain reliever; don't think it was a _poison_—ha! Loki knew not to try something like _that_ again.

Thor looked around while Loki was away, eyes cast on the two doves in their intricate hanging cage. Doves, a black cat—this guy was pretty wicked, man! Wicked, was that the right word? Was it because… Nah, it couldn't be. A bitter sting jolted Thor from his thoughts, yelping softly at the burning. "Holy hell, what was that?" Thor asked with a startled look, blood trickling down from the small split in his eyebrow.

Loki sighed, "I didn't want to interrupt your day dreams about my birds," the brunette deadpanned, letting a giggle slip through his words. It was cruel to laugh at a time like this, but he just couldn't _help_ it- Especially with the priceless expression on Thor's face. Oh, man, it may just be an entertaining night as well as a long one.

"You could've warned me," Thor murmured in a pouty fashion, worrying his upper lip for a moment as Loki dabbed away at the blood on his face. Nimble fingers held the blonde's left cheek to steady his head as the blood was wiped away at, warm water occasionally dripping down the angle of Thor's high cheekbones, feeling a docile fingertip along the small gash in his brow. Only hope managed to support Thor's want of not being asked how the gash got there, and only hope he could.

Loki's pursed lips frowned slightly, parting to take in a small breath. "This may sting again," he warned gently, voice calm and almost wispy next to Thor's ear.

And man, was Loki hella right. It burned immensely, causing the blonde to groan weakly with a furrow of his brows, nails digging into his calloused palm. The witch tried to hush him while the salve was dabbed along the cut, creamy consistency thinning along the edge independently—and damn, did that infinitive the salve did bring a roughly reminiscent smile to Loki's pale lips.

Thor's face relaxed a bit, aggravated at the fact of how he didn't know what the hell Loki was doing to his face, how much it burned and felt cold, then hot, then like a phantom wound. The warmth was back, but this time it was wet—Thor realized then that it was the damp cloth against the side of his forehead and temple.

"Jane punched you, didn't she?" Loki broke within the silence, biting his lips to suppress his comical grin.

Thor furrowed his brow again, eyes nearly accusing in their depths towards the astronomer at his side. "I would really like to know how you suddenly know everything about me, trickster." Thor grumbled, watching the witch whom he knew nary about disappear into the kitchen again. He heard a loud, rough sigh and an under toned laugh. Thor's fuse was slow, smoldering and burning.

Footsteps matched the movement of Loki's agile strut, boots letting the tap echo through the apartment. Thor looked in the direction of the kitchen, blinking as an attempt to look around the corner for the brunette.

Loki cleared his throat, raising a brow at Thor's astonished look that was thrown at him. "Cat got your tongue?" Laufeyson asked, tilting his head as Sigyn jumped to his shoulder. Pale lips turned up into a catlike grin, turning to his kitten with a small nuzzle. "No, I wasn't talking about you, cat," he muttered to the feline friend of his, who mewled at the blonde intruder in her household. The cat had a mind of her own, and she always acted like a human. What could she say; she had an amazing owner that gave her milk and delicious food!

Thor found it difficult to talk; like his mouth had gone dry as cotton and his tongue had swelled up. "You," he tried, but his voice wouldn't allow him to get any further with his words. He only laughed, Thor, and shook his head.

"Must be her time of the month," Loki inquisited (about Jane), taking a seat at the small round table seated in the middle of the small room next to the piano and couches, a small flash of light coming from the window. Loki snapped his fingers, smirk present on his lips.

Thor's words slipped out instantly, in the form that was quite loud and almost awestruck. "How do you do that_ thing_ where you're one place and then another!" Thor exclaimed faintly, blinking his cerulean eyes at the catlike being in front of him. "It is impossibly in-_humane!_" Thor took a moment of silence to catch his breath.

Loki raised his eyebrows, shaking his head daintily. "In the same way I can do this," the witch started, sliding from his seat to walk over to the nearest candle. Thor watched with curious eyes, as Loki picked out an unused, pure white, taper candle. "See this candle?"

"What are you," Thor's train of thought trailed off when the brunette sat back down, nodding at his earlier asked question. Loki's eyes were vibrant in the dark, taking in a breath, and exhaling softly into the wick. _What is he_, Odinson thought for a mere moment, watching as the candle lit itself in a flicker and flash.

Wide eyes stared, stared, and stared at the man in front of him, gaze flickering to the candle, then to the supernatural being in front of him. "Speak. I know what you're thinking, ," said the witch, leaning back in his chair, hands out in surrender like notion. "You've caught me."

Cerulean gazed into shadowed aventurine, wondering for a moment if anyone's eyes could get any brighter than this man's. Loki truly was a different kind of person compared to others, he was so beautiful in an oddly masculine way. Damn him for that, that's for sure. Thor studied Loki's face for moments; from the high, sharp cheekbones to Laufeyson's perfectly thin lips, how pale and delicate his complexion, how delicate his sweetheart jaw line was…

One could accuse the blonde of daydreaming, really.

Thor could think of so many words to match the wandering feelings for this creature in front of him, the one with the jet black hair and the tea green and emerald highlights in his irises: Lavish to simply curious. "Beautiful." Thor purred, staring blankly at the Wiccan before him.

Loki's eyes blinked, wide and unfaltering when they stared back at the blue depths of Thor's. "Qu'est-ce?" Loki asked, most unaware of the non-English he spoke, mouth parted in both confusion and flatter.

"You heard me, trickster," Thor's mouth turned up into a smile, eyes sparking with a child like curiosity. "You're so different, you're…"

"A witch?"

"An awe-striking being."

"A witch..?"

"A stupefying practitioner."

"A witch."

"A _witch._" Thor settled on, expression bright with an enlightenment as if he had just seen his first self-lit, gasoline-drenched bonfire. In other words, pricelessly somewhat entertained.

The pianist bit his bottom lip, face conveying that he was contemplating many different things at once…

He took a breath, faced Thor with a tilt of his head and a witty smile, before disappearing into a wisp, reappearing at the small sofa just one-o-clock from where Thor sat, opening a cabinet and grabbing out a large bottle.

The blonde's facial expression went back to that mixture of confusion and awe, the corners of his mouth twitching up again. He uttered out another one of those bewildered words along the lines of "beautiful" and others, gasping lightly when the brunette—_witch_ – reappeared back in front of him with the bottle. "You like vodka, right?"

"You're trouble," Thor laughed amusedly.

And, surprisingly, so did Loki.

* * *

Both men ended up on the foot of the couch, giggling, slurring messes. Somehow Sigyn had gotten hold of Thor's flannel shirt, leaving him clad in only jeans and a tee. While he was half laying on the ground, Loki sat up with his legs in a full-lotus, playing with candles and turning pages in books without using his hands at all, each time earning a drunken sound of awe from the blonde oaf next to him.

Thor seemed to become an extremely innovatively intelligent man when drunk, Loki noted, who had come up with an entire of how cat claws retracted and sheathed. It was quite a sight, actually. On the other hand, Loki was more of the putting-a-snowglobe-to-your-ear-and-thinking-you-can-hear-the-ocean sort of drunk; giggly and not too bright. Complete opposites from their sober personas, definitely.

On the subject of what they talked about—well, let's just say it was all about relationships. Well, it sort of went from relationships, to cats, to superstition, to whether or not scrambled eggs are better than fried ones. When the conversation died down, the two sort of just giggled at the doves, and the cat that was still playing with Thor's flannel. Though Loki did tell him a bit about himself. Actually, more like a _shitload _about himself. His few experiences with women, with punishment from the aftermath of bad spells; Thor was quite interested in those stories. He sort of

But when the conversation stopped, both men went silent and blurry, either staring at one another, or staring at the ceiling.

"You really are somethin', Loki," Thor stated with a hum like giggle, face flushed a warm shade of red from the alcohol in his system. Loki pursed his lips, just like he always did. "Y' don't get that a lot, do ya'?"

Loki shook his head, hand out in front of him, as if he were playing a piano—and just as he flexed his fingers downwards, the same keys his fingers depicted played on the grand in the corner, eyes closed to the sound of a Massive Attack song. This, of course, caught Thor's drunken attention for a moment, smile wide on his face. "No." Loki answered blankly.

Odinson tilted his head, lying down on his back, neck craned back to get an upside down look at his friend. He even looked beautiful flipped like that. "Why not~? You're exquisite, you're unique—not to mention one in a million in looks—"

"It's all because I'm a witch."

A small bit of understanding found its way into Thor's ethics for Loki, taking in a small sigh. "I was born into the craft, people found out what I was, I was teased, threatened with death and the depths of hell," Loki's words went on, and Thor couldn't resist the frown that formed upon his lips.

Loki stopped talking when a finger pushed against his lips, Thor's face adjacent to the left of him. "Sh. Not all people see you that way," Thor slurred, watching the two, blinking aventurine eyes that trailed over his own facial features. The blonde's hand dropped.

"Who—"

"I do."

Loki's brow raised in the middle, realizing that—passed the drunken tone of voice—Thor's sincerity wasn't the alcohol making it up. The witch's lips were still parted, eyes almost unblinking as he stared at the year elder male. "You mean that?" stoned Loki, suspicion in his eyes.

The blonde nodded, face unnoticeably inches away from Loki's own. What, they were both drunk; nothing was worth giving any shits to anyways. Especially how far or close their faces were—it didn't exactly matter much. "I appreciate you."

Laufeyson's facial expression turned outspoken as well as out worded, leaning forwards to rest his head on Thor's right shoulder. His warm sigh blew against Thor's neck. "Thank you."

It was a serene moment between the two almost-strangers, and it didn't actually matter that they were drunk, it didn't matter that they were having a flamingly heterosexual moment, no. None of that shit truly mattered at a time like this (unless Jane walked in, of course). They were sitting, appreciating the company, breathing each other in, and dozing off occasionally together… It had been a long and appreciated night. All thanks to Jane splitting Thor's eyebrow open her fist.

Ah, a long night indeed.

* * *

** I hope you liked it :3 I ca't wait to write the next chapter x3 I hope you guys can't wait either- I lost an entire morning of sleep for you people! Nah, kidding; I took a hella rad nap. Thanks for the support :3 **

**Please, por favor, s'il vous plaît; Critique my writing! I would highly appreciate any kind of critique-like-reviews :3!**


	5. Le Quatrième Chapitre

**Ahhh, so many projects, so many school, so many manys. Sorry for the wait, those of you who read this! Just remember that I didn't forget about it, nooo, not at all. This chapter has a hint or two of Loki's trickster ways, inferring to his witchcraftiness~ If that's even a word... Oh well :D!**

**IV.: Admirations, Coffee, and "Coffee"**

Thor grew a strange liking to the way this brunette's pupils dilated in a feral way whenever at attention or had a spike of aggression or annoyance. It was nearing the edge of adoration. Though, that wasn't surprising for someone like Thor to endure—adoration, that is. And, say, this adoration was quite noticeable in Thor's own right of mind. How did he know this, though?

Thor simply inferred that when you wake up on Loki Laufeyson's couch with your arms post-drunkenly tangled around his arms and torso, then you know this.

Blue eyes blinked open, seething from tiredness as well as the aftermath of alcohol. Well, and that it was still raining outside, despite the fact that it was most likely past noon. The clock said so itself; 11:27. Thor furrowed his brow, turning his head to look around the room, noticing the candles that were still lit among the piano; and something stirred against him.

With a soundless gasp, the blonde's arms locked up and his voice caught, staring down and into the eyes of bright emerald. "You can let go of me now," the witch informed Thor, looking just the slightest bit doubtly in his arms.

When Thor stayed still, Loki just laughed, shaking his head with a sigh; and he decided it was a good idea to vanish once again. "Don't go wordless on me, thunder boy," Laufeyson called out from—where seemed to be—the kitchen.

_Thank god he isn't freaking out, _Thor couldn't help but toss around in his mind, as well as many other questions; most of why Loki had been staring at him, why they were together on such a small couch—Many, many question!

The flick of a lighter caught Thor's attention, eyes immediately falling upon the man with the coffee cups, then his lips. They were smirking. Smirking; why? _No time to think, get the nectar of the gods, _crossed the blonde to himself, gently grabbing his coffee cup, finger brushing against Loki's knuckle. Well, it was one near-subliminal way to show mutual attraction, now wasn't it?

"Thank you," Thor almost hailed, lifting the cup to his lips for a sip of the godlike fluids they all called coffee after he had sat up. It was hot, but like any of the two men cared; hangovers required care. Or at least Thor's did.

"What exactly happened last night?" The blonde asked, tilting his head in an insipid way.

Loki pursed his lips, taking a large sip of his scalding hot caffeine before he swallowed and spoke. "Well, I remember you talking quite a bit about yours and Jane's relationship," Loki dawdled, lulling his head to the side in a lazy grace.

"A little bit a lot of questions about me, my lifestyle, love life," the witch wafted his hand in front of him, most definately in a way of saying "et cetera, et cetera".

Thor took in a breath, worrying his bottom lip as the other fell silent. "I apologize for being so nosey," the blonde simpered, cheeks turning an embarrassed shade of rose. "I'm not exactly the most innocuous drunk."

"Oh, you were hilarious!" Loki tossed his head, dragging out his last word in an exasperated way, smiling openly at the thunderer. Thor gazed back, wordless as his eyes fell on every aspect of the Laufeyson's face.

He stared even when the witch averted his own eyes, taking another nip off his coffee. Loki was never used to people staring at him, not even his own colleagues, so this was not much different or the most comfortable. But in all due respect (if it was respect at all), he let the man stare as much as he want; staring himself out at the somber, clouded skies.

Lord, did this man have some of the most beautiful features Thor had ever seen! And single? He was a walking contradiction, the witch! Sallow and porcelain skin, ink hair, bright eyes; he was exotic. _Though, _Thor started to think, _what am I to him?_

_Almost everything, _Loki retorted, answering Thor's rather loud thoughts. And _damn_ was the witch glad that Thor couldn't hear the quip. Thor was definitely the epitome of masculinity. A strong but subtle jaw, broad shoulders, tall, lean but fit; pretty much a man to his fullest.

Blonde hair, blue eyes; original. Nothing like himself, Loki. Awfully tall and thin, against tall and built. And when he said built, he meant like a jock. Yeah; definitely an original. Though… He had such long hair and a softer expression to his face. Maybe a jock-hippie? Flannels, stonewashed jeans, and sneakers; against deep V's, dress shirts, black jeans and combat boots and oxfords. Maybe, _just maybe_, like the lion and the lamb.

Yeah. You could say different.

"Are you sure you aren't some sort of alien?" Broke the long endured silence, and earned a befuddled stare to the one who voiced the question.

"Are you kidding?" Loki deadpanned, nearly glaring at the blonde.

"No—I mean that in a," Thor faltered, mouth falling open without any words. "You're so inhumane in an exotic way, Loki, you," the blonde took in a breath, letting it out in a bashful and airy chuckle. HE rubbed his hands nervously on his thighs, head hanging in some form of shame. "And you're still single."

"Are you hitting on me?" Loki inquired, brows furrowed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face.

Thor's eyes widened, head snapping up to look at the witch once more. "I am?"

"It very much seems that way, Thor."

"I wasn't meaning it that way bu—"

"Sh; stop, just…" Loki interrupted, raising a hand in the air and making Thor's tongue go dry once more; other pressed against his own forehead. "Thank you."

Thor's words caught again, dragging a hand acrossed his face. Man, was he blunt as fuck. And he even knew it! "You're welcome," Thor spat out after his mouth grew much less dry within an instant. "You might just kill me on accident with those miniature hexes of yours."

"Don't push it," Loki grumbled, drinking more of his coffee; and so did Thor.

The blonde pursed his lips, tilting his head at the other. And they stared, and stared; and stared. "Would you," Thor started, earning a scrutinizing and mimicked head tilt from the witch.

"Coffee?"

"Yes."

Grab your jackets, boys, you're heading into the city.

* * *

"You're Irish, aren't you?" Loki's voice suddenly asked the blonde, sliding his leather jacket from his shoulders, and draping it acrossed the back of his chair without hands, nor arms. Ah, you subliminal trickster, you.

Thor gazed out and up, eyes squinting at the darkened, yet rainless clouds from his seat at the table for two. "Partially, yes. Why do you ask?"

The brunette laughed, shaking his head. "Your accent, smart one," _And your eyes, your hair, your beautiful face; nothing, really._

"Accent?"

"Yes," Loki dragged out, dipping his head up in a way of saying "you seriously need to get a brain"; or at least along those lines. "You have a slight drawl." Aventurine eyes stared up at the sky again, a sigh leaving pale lips.

Thor just smiled, nodding lazily at Loki's rejoin. "Well I am, but not enough to be called _completely_ Irish-"

"You don't need to explain, Thor," Loki gently interrupted, jerking Thor into an abrupt silence. Loki offered him a smile. Thor smiled back.

_Mutual appreciation, Loki, it's called mutual appreciation_. Oh, he could only hope at that. He liked Thor. Perhaps more than he should. But, in all, it was nice to have that one emotion slip back into your life again. Or at least for a few days.

But suddenly, Loki dipped his head down, eyes casting themselves upon Thor's hands, which's fingers drummed against the tabletop. "Let me see your hand," Loki mused, holding out his own palm.

"Your other hand," Loki sighed out just after Thor had handed him his right hand.

Loki's fingers pressed against the blonde's fingertips, then against their lengths, stopping at the bases in his palms. The curves and lines, creases and indentations in palms were easily readable, and with practice, one could read someone's palm within a matter of few seconds.

Loki's pale digits spread along Thor's palm, his thumb, fingers; everywhere. It almost gave the blonde goose bumps, actually—because first of all; Loki's hands were cold, and second of all; it was keeping Thor in a near trancelike state just watching his hand and then Loki's facial expression. It was beautiful, how the witch's fingers danced and felt along the lines and creases of Thor's palms; beautiful in a delicately eerie way.

"You have problems maintaining relationships," Loki mused, index and middle fingers pressing down on the crease beneath Thor's pinkie.

"You have hardships and frequent, subtle traumas in them when they come and go," Loki carried on, moving his fingers along the line until he reached the edge of Thor's hand. "But you're extremely passionate and would give anything for love… No matter where it comes from."

The blonde stared, mouth parted in absolute disbelief from what the witch was saying, staying silent for the random reading. "You don't intend on getting married any time soon, or perhaps ever in your life," – _says the absence of the marriage crease, ha!_—"But at the same time you are quite fearless; audacious in your characteristics." Loki wasn't too surprised by _that _one.

"You aren't too intelligent," Laufeyson gave a small giggle, hearing a similar chuckle from above. "You are very romantic, energetic and brave."

"You were ill during childhood, most of the time," Loki took in a breath. "Cocky and self-righteous; prone to accidents, but most likely not suicide," Thor was taken aback by this. His palm was rude! "Oh, not to mention that you're very religious or spiritually involved— whichever— and you have good memory."

Thor's cerulean eyes were thin now, head tilted at the explanation he was just given. His lips twitched up into a small smile, shaking his head for the more than seventh time that day; uttering few words in a recitative way: "Absolutely beautiful."

"I wouldn't say _absolutely_," Loki stalled, worrying his bottom lip as his cheeks turned a shade of soft rose.

"I wouldn't say _indefinite_," Thor retorted softly, watching as Loki's face hid itself. "You're remarkable, Loki, you're almost… Almost supernatural."

"Oh, please," Loki scoffed, leaning back in his chair, pursing his lips to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek in a near impatient manner. "It's more of a curse than a gift, Thor."

Said man leaned forwards on the table from his elbows, briefly thanking the waitress for their coffee, joined by a thank in a completely different language that came from Loki. "We all have curses, Loki." Thor began, smile prominent on his lips.

"Like how I have troubles with Jane, relationships—that's a curse I didn't ask for. Save for that woman that just delivered us coffee," Thor pointed to the waitress, who was busy serving a much different table. "She speaks nary a word of English."

Thor leaned in even more, tilting his head in an utmost prying way. "That's because her fate was cursed with having to move to a different country, and learn a different language; which she may be having trouble with."

"English is the hardest language to lea—"

"That's not my point, Loki." Thor cinched, hands flat on the table. "You need to embrace the fact that you were born with a grateful curse of your own religion, lifestyle—your _life_."

The witch tilted his head back, hand held in a position on the table as if he were keeping old of something; then the honey slid into his hand from its place on the table.

Thor's face lit up again. "Like that!" he exclaimed softly, out of everyone else's earshot, pointing to Loki's hand, which was now holding the small bottle of honey.

"A curse."

"A damn gift, bloody hell, mate!" Thor bantered, his grin tugging at even the corners of Loki's mouth; ending up in a smile.

"You really are _brave_," Loki moaned lifelessly, staring out at the dampened ground from the window for a brief moment.

Thor's smile faded, confused by what the witch had said. Nothing Loki said really made sense when he didn't finish what he said, and it made Thor's attention span bigger for the sake of knowing what the witch was talking about; and near _only_ that. Thor even asked himself internally why he was stuck with Loki today in the first place, but decided that he rather liked his company. With that, he took his cup of coffee, slowly lifting it up to his lips to drink his second cup of the day. What _was_ Loki even talking about..?

Blood. Loki had turned his coffee into blood. Bright red, crimson, life fluids from some being on this planet.

Thor nearly choked, the plasma substance spilling past his fingers—or at least what was left of what he had swallowed—and his eyes went wide, face paling to an extreme extent. His lips were stained red, his mouth shrilling for the metallic taste to stop. Was it human blood, was it—what the _fuck! _Thor stared, wordless as his mouth was still open behind his blood stained fingers, the entire

"Ahh," Loki deadpanned, shooting the oaf a faux-sympathetic frown. "Serveuse, ma chérie," The trickster began, tilting his head and putting on an "oh, no" and rather worried looking expression.

"Le café transformé en sang, pourriez-vous, euh," Loki called to the petit woman, who came to their table. Her lovely little face turned into a twisted expression of horror, squeaking pleads and cries of apologetic "Je ne savais pas"—"I didn't know"—and prompt "Forgive me, pardonnez-moi!"

Thor stayed put, licking his lips of the red, now cold, fluid, staring from his hand that was held out in front of him, to the witch's aventurine, unforgiving, seducing eyes.

Loki was surprised by the expression Thor put on, both ignoring the French girl's apologies as she ran off to get the cooks, and God knows who else. No, they stared at each other, eyes boring into their skulls. Both of them leaned into each other's gaze, lips parted, gazes caught low. But, oh, the Laufeyson man only smiled.

"I may be cursed, and I am not God; but, Thor, there's _no_ telling what I can do when I'm free."

Thor felt like he had just seen a ghost; but felt like he had just been kissed by a siren.  
Damn, was he starting to like this guy more and more.

* * *

**Wooooooh, black magic and wiered trickster shitttt, wooooh~ How'd you all like _that!_**

**I'm running low on inspiration, and I have so many projects to do this month and the next! I love you guys that read this, I mean it! I'll be buuuusybusybusy for the next week or two... /prepares myself for hellish weeks.**


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